Never Let Me Go
by A Sherlocked Girl
Summary: Today is John Watson's wedding and Sherlock is not invited. But...


**Hey guys,**

 **Here is another Johnlock one-shot. This is how I ofter picture The Wedding in an AU setting. It's angsty, feel-y and Johnlock to the core!**

 **Neither Brit-picked nor Beta'd.**

 **Hope you'll like it. If you do, please leave a review behind.**

 **Enjoy the read!**

* * *

 **Never Let Me Go**

Songspiration- " **Some Like You** " and " **Hello** " by **Adele**

 ** _"I hate to turn up out of the blue, uninvited_**

 ** _But I couldn't stay away, I couldn't fight it_**

 ** _I had hoped you'd see my face and that you'd be_**

 ** _Reminded that for me_**

 ** _It isn't over…"_**

 ** _\- 'Someone Like You' by Adele_**

* * *

The place was decorated with white roses, as he predicted. He could still smell the ones that once sat on his bedside table. White. Soft. Pure. Like the touches…

The ceremony had already begun. His timing was perfectly calculated. He slipped into the room and stood in the shadows. He wouldn't be seen here but would be able to see perfectly.

The bride and the groom had their backs to the guests. The minister was babbling away. The groom's back was stiff, rigid as if facing a challenge. Maybe this _was_ a challenge for him. Would he have stood like that if it were…..

Today was John Watson's wedding day.

And Sherlock Holmes was an intruder.

This wasn't meant to be. Sherlock should have been on that plane by now. Wasn't it why he chose this particular day to leave? But no plan ever worked accordingly where a certain John Watson was concerned. Just one last look, one more memory to cling on to till the end. A crushing need to see him in his wedding attire. Just one more memory of John.

An elderly lady on the back row sniffled and made a comment about how good the couple looked together. Sherlock wanted to rip her apart. Wanted to scream that John would never look good with someone else.

But…

John looked beautiful today. Together. With someone else. Someone who would give him hope, warmth, security. A safe future…where Sherlock would never exist.

A chorused murmuring sound tore him away from his Dystopia. John was facing his bride now.

 _Dyed blonde. Taking baking classes. Cat lover. Liar. Liar! Oh John, you are destined to fall for the deceiving ones, aren't you?_

The ring sat on a velvet pad. John had chosen it for his beloved. A tiny slide down the finger and Sherlock would become the Other One for John. Sherlock wanted to see it.

John took the ring in his hand. Someone must have said something as John suddenly laughed and swept his eyes around the room.

Those blue eyes rested on a certain dark corner before moving away.

 _"I will recognize you with my eyes closed, baby."_

 _A long trail of kisses had followed those teasing words, coaxing Sherlock to moan harder._

 _Can he sense her presence like that too? Does he call her 'baby' while teasing?_

Sherlock hated that pet name. He absolutely hated it and he'd never had the chance to tell John how he craved to hear it just once more since the last time. So many unspoken words, so many hopeless dreams…

Love had snatched everything away from him.

John wasn't moving. At all. Staring down at his hand which held the ring. Mary called his name; his best man asked him if anything the matter. Sherlock lip-read. John kept looking at the ring.

 _Their first kiss tasted like honey. He was licking honey off the spoon. John was teasing him, calling him his honeybee. Just as Sherlock tried to throw a glob of the sticky liquid at his roommate, John tried to pry the spoon away. The lips brushed together in the process. After a beat, it might also be an eternity, their mouth crashed on each other. The honey seeped through their being into their memories._ Sherlock's first kiss would always taste like honey. And John.

John looked up at him, meeting his eyes head on. Face blank. The kind of blank that Sherlock could read like the periodic table.

 _John, no_. Because Blank John never bode well.

The guests had started murmuring and were trying to follow John's line of vision. To track the interruption. Sherlock tried to wrap the shadowy darkness more tightly.

 _John, don't._

Mary was clutching her dress viciously, "What's going on, John? Why aren't you saying something? Is something wrong with the ring? Is it not the right one? Are you- are you feeling unwell? Say something! John- John, we're getting married today, aren't we? Damn it, answer me!" The hovering bridesmaids were hissing like those mythical snakes of Medusa's hair.

Everything met with a bowed head and an absolute silence. Sherlock wanted to curse everyone, wanted to flee the scene, wanted to take John with him. Instead, he just stood there and bore the witness of John's humiliation.

 _It was seven months of togetherness, seven months as lovers before Mycroft brought up the inevitable in the guise of a file labeled Moriarty. John's love or John's life? To have the happiness that he thought was impossible to have or to set John free from Sherlock's poisonous presence? The choice was obvious, wasn't it? John was at Tesco at that time, buying milk. That night they made love like there was no tomorrow. Later that night, when Sherlock was tracing his own name on John skin over and over, John promised a surprise for the next time. That next time never came._

Mary looked at Sherlock's corner, at Sherlock. Face contorted with disgust, "It's him, isn't it? It was always him, all along." John lifted his eyes at her. Sherlock's heart skipped several beats.

 _"It's you, Sherlock. Only you for me."_

John clenched his jaw.

"How could you, John? How- you- this, _you_ wanted this too! _We_ wanted this! We planned this for months!"

John planned this for months. John wanted this for months. It'd been two years since John planned anything with him. A pang shot through Sherlock. He shouldn't have come here today, shouldn't have ruined John's chance at happiness, shouldn't have let John go. John wouldn't have, he still didn't. Then, how could Sherlock let go? How now?

Mary threw her bridal bouquet at John. White petals flew everywhere. John didn't lower his eyes, took it all in like the brave soldier he was. Was this really a better life for John? Mary was now rushing down the altar. She stopped in front of Sherlock, and suddenly the guilt for ruining John's wedding evaporated, replaced by another kind of guilt. Sherlock needed to dig up her file. He had let his guards down. She had the fingers of a sniper. She left.

John was still at the altar, looking ahead, unresponsive. Still clutching the ring inside his clenched fist. Sherlock could almost feel the burn of the metal. This was not the way he pictured John when he thought he was keeping him safe by severing all ties. This was not…. This was not…

"John."

A whisper, not loud enough to reach anyone in the chaotic room. But John staggered back, as if the name physically pushed him, and looked at Sherlock across the room.

 _"Tell me it's a lie, it's all a lie. Tell me, Sherlock. Don't do this to me. Don't do this to us. I love you. I'd believe you, I'll- I'll forget everything, I swear, just tell me that it wasn't what it looked like. Please, I beg you, please."_

Sherlock wanted to claw at his throat. The memories were choking him.

John stormed past him without sparing a glance.

"You- you are Sherlock, aren't you?" Former military. Gym instructor at present. John's best man. Vaguely familiar face. The man didn't wait for an answer. "I never thought you actually hated John. I still don't. But then…why ruin his life like this?"

"You are delusional if you think you are entitled to an explanation."

"No, I don't. But I do think you owe John an answer."

The vitriolic answer bubbled inside Sherlock's chest but what came out was, "I don't think he wants anything to do with me."

"And yet here we are," the man gave a tight sad smile. "You are an idiot, aren't you?" He was one of those very few fortunate people who got away unscathed calling Sherlock Holmes an idiot on his face.

Because, damn John.

He rushed outside and though he didn't expect John to be lingering there, he still scanned the place before getting into a cab. He knew exactly where John had gone to.

... ... ...

 _"Wow…uh…this place is-"_

 _"Perfect for a murder, isn't it?"_

 _"Jesus! You- I was going to say romantic in a very creepy way."_

 _"Dull."_

 _"Is it? Then why are we here? I hope it's not for murdering me and throwing my body into Thames."_

 _"Mm, maybe."_

 _"Really? Well, that's assuring. Dying in your arms- that's practically the dream of my life, yeah."_

 _"How very nauseatingly sweet of you."_

 _"Ha bloody ha. You talk too much."_

 _"You know exactly how to shut me up and yet…"_

 _"Bloody hell! Sherlock Holmes throwing sexual innuendos and willingly asking to be shut up! Should have bought the lottery toda- ow! Wanker. But really, did we come here so that you can snog me senseless without Mycroft ogling us?"_

 _"Please, as if I can't dodge that bumbling fool anytime. I like it here, it's….quiet."_

 _"Yeah, it's- it's nice. Our secret place."_

 _"Urgh..the perils of having an idiot for a boyfriend."_

 _"Hah, and you love every minute of it."_

 _"Well…."_

 _... ... ..._

John stood there, clutching the railings with both hands. Eyes on Thames. He looked small, broken and fragile. Sherlock heard his inside crumbling. He didn't understand. Was there still anything left to be broken? He thought his body, his heart was burnt down and turned into steel the day John called him a machine. The day he told John that everything was just a game.

"I see you haven't grown out of the habit of coming here."

John didn't even turn but barked out a laugh. Sherlock winced. When did he learn to laugh like that? He never…..well, two years was a long time.

"You are not getting married today."

"No shit, Sherlock."

Sherlock wanted to look away because this wasn't John. But he couldn't, because this _was_ John.

"Why?"

John turned at last. There were tear tracks. Just like that day.

" _Why_? You ask _why_? After everything you ask _why_? Because fuck you, Sherlock, that's why. Fuck you."

Sherlock felt tired. This hatred, this pure disgust, this pain- how many times more would he have to face it? To be the cause of it? And why? He just wanted his John to be safe, alive. Wasn't that what he was supposed to want for someone he loved more than his own existence? Then why? He felt so very tired. All he wanted was John to be safe.

"Why are you here? Why were you at my wedding?"

He really wished John wore a jumper today. That oatmeal coloured jumper. His last memory of John was going to be him dressed as someone's husband.

"I don't know."

That ugly laugh again.

"Is that so? Want me to deduce that for you? Want me to show you how well I've _learnt_ to know you?"

 _Do you really?_ "Deduce away."

"You are one sadistic bastard who gets off by breaking people to pieces. A selfish prick who is hell bent to ruin my life, ruin even the slightest possibility of peace."

John was panting heavily. Without looking Sherlock knew how John looked right now. Furiously brilliant.

"Why Sherlock? Because- Because I made the mistake of loving you? More than I was even capable of? Because I was useless to you? Wasn't that what you told me, that I've lost my _usefulness_?" The voice cracked.

Wasn't this exactly what Sherlock wanted? For John to hate him beyond measure?

"Then why not leave that useless, pitiful, broken man alone? Why come back after all this time? Two bloody years, Sherlock. And today out of all days? You planned this, didn't you? You did this on purpose, didn't you? I _loved_ Mary. I thought- I thought I was finally…."

Suddenly telling John the truth felt the most important thing to do. John was still in danger; he still needed to make sure John knew about Mary, but more than that he wanted John to know about him. To know the truth behind that day. And to stop hating him so vehemently. He would leave today and never return, possibly; John's safety wouldn't be jeopardized. And he'd absolutely have to let John know the truth. Right now.

"Do you know Mary is an ex-sniper? Or presumably ex, I should say."

Nothing happened for a long time.

"What? She's…WHAT?"

"Her fingers. They are of a sniper's. And based on the physical manifestation of her hatred, she is clinically psychopathic."

"Sniper?"

"I've already informed Mycroft to collect her files. And observing your reaction to the information I'd say you had no idea."

"What are you talking about? She- she works as a nurse at the clinic! She's a trained nurse! She injects people, not shoots them. She is- she- fuck! Fuck. Fuck. Fuck."

"There is no need to be so alarmed. Mycroft will see to your safety. At least, now, you can stop feeling bad for abandoning your marriage ceremony."

John looked utterly confused and baffled. But less broken. "And that's supposed to make me feel better? To know that I've been deceived yet again? Why the hell do I always end up with psychopaths?"

 _Because you are John_. "Because you chose her."

"No, no, that's not the reason. That's not it. Nope. It's because… It's because I chose _you_."

The last straw. Something knocked the breath out of Sherlock.

"When I chose Mary, I thought it was because she was nothing like you, nothing. I convinced myself about it. Because the truth was something I wasn't ready to face yet. The truth was I chose her for all those little bits that reminded me of you. I was trying to find you. It was always you, Sherlock Holmes. You ruined it for me."

Nothing was more wretched than to watch John cry. Nothing. Thames began to blur in front of Sherlock.

"John-"

"How did you know about Mary?"

Sherlock cleared his throat, "I deduced."

"Then it's not proof enough. I don't believe you."

"And yet you decided to believe me that day?" _Why did you, John? Why did I?_

Because love was a painful bliss.

John just stared at him. The last two years flashed by in front of Sherlock. Those endless games of Moriarty. Mind tricks, dismantling, bleeding, surviving without John, accepting John's disgust…

"That… That day was a…a lie?!"

A gust of wind ruffled them momentarily. Sherlock shivered and watched John as he staggered back.

"That day- I- I saw you with her! In our bed! _Y-your_ bed, and she was naked! Both of you. Both of you were naked and you slept together, you told me and..and-"

"We see what we want to see, John."

"Really? 'Cause I saw what _you_ told me to see."

"What I told you to see?"

"Yeah, that's right. You see, I saw a sheet-wrapped woman, which was a shock, and my sheet-wrapped boyfriend which was a regular sight. Lying together while I waited for a damned explanation before jumping into anything, even after witnessing that. Because I trusted you beyond reason. And oh boy, what a reward did I get for that."

"You were in mortal danger. I wanted you to be safe."

"Fuck you did. You slept with someone else, rubbed it on my face, and called me useless so that you can keep me safe? How fucked up do you think I am to believe that?"

"It worked, didn't it?" He knew his response would irritate John to no end. With Sweet John out of the option list, this Angry John was closest to what Sherlock considered His John. In fact, anything was better than the tux wearing Mean John.

"Instead of warning me about this danger you broke my heart? I guess it was the easy way, wasn't it? With deadweight of a boyfriend out of the way, there's nothing to hold you back. You get to keep your heart intact and as a bonus get a free fuck too. Assuming it was free, of course. Brilliant plan, isn't it?"

Sherlock was subjected to many verbal abuses throughout his life. Almost everyone he knew said something hurtful things to him at some point or other, but he never cared, not really. But today, standing here and hearing John say those things broke his carefully constructed mask of non-chalance to pieces, and two tear drops rolled down, leaving salty tracks.

"I wanted- I _needed_ you to hate me, and I did what I thought would work best to achieve that. I lied, pushed you away so that you could have a chance to happiness with someone…safer. There was a Consulting Criminal who had me as his target at that time. There was a high chance of his using you to have leverage on me." He took a moment and trudged on, "Now, the question is why come now, after all these years? Why today? The answer is, no, I didn't come here to ruin your wedding. I didn't have any intention to reveal myself, in fact. I… I am leaving the country, probably permanently, and I wanted to see you for one last time before I leave. Petty sentiments, I know. However, you are free to interpret my actions any way you want to, but I do not regret coming here today, as it ultimately saved you from a probable dangerous marriage. And yes, you guessed right, it wasn't a "free fuck" technically, as she was an MI5 double oh- agent, Irene Adler, whom Mycroft had hired for the task."

The following silence was so long stretched that he would have thought that John had left already if not for the faint breathing sound which once used to be his lullaby. Moments passed and he knew John wasn't going to say anything. He steeled himself and turned around. John was holding the railings once again, face a collage of emotions.

Sherlock once had thought of spending the rest of his life with this amazing person. The fool that he was, he dared to dream of the things that were never his to dream.

"John, there is…there is something I want to tell you. I wanted to, for a long time but never had the chance before. So, I'm just- I'm going to say it now…" he sucked in a sharp breath, "John, I was so alone before you came into my life, and I owe you so much. You made me human again, made me realize that love was not a chemical defect, not really. You showed me that even _I_ could be loved, too. You were my conductor of light. So, I thank you, John Watson, for being the person you are."

Sherlock bit the inside of his cheek and saw John do the same. John's Adam's apple bobbled, just like his own. He met John's eyes, gave a tentative nod and turned to leave.

"It's a mission, isn't it?"

Sherlock stopped but didn't turn, "Yes."

"A dangerous one?"

"Yes."

"And when you say it's our last meeting, you mean…"

"It's a suicide mission, John."

After a pause, "Mycroft recruited you?"

"Yes. Well, I asked him to give it to me."

"Mmhm."

His chest felt so tight. "Goodbye, John."

"You utter insufferable prick!"

His spun so quickly that heat bloomed around his neck from the slight sprain. "Excuse me?"

And he came face to face with a fuming John.

"You tossed me away, shut me out for two fucking years, then crashed my wedding to a fucking secret sniper only to say a fucking goodbye, so that you can fucking fly off on a fucking suicide mission with a clear conscience?! Who the fucking hell do you think you are?"

"What else do you want me to do?" Sherlock snapped, because seriously!

"Shut. Up. And listen to me very carefully." John licked his lips and Sherlock felt relief washed over him immediately. Licky John was always a good sign, without failing. "You think you can Waltz into my life and turn it upside down anytime you want to? Well, not anymore. Hate to break it to you but you are not in change anymore. This time you leave when _I_ tell you to."

"My plane is go-"

"I told you to shut up, didn't I? Yeah, that's better. Now, you'll call your brother and cancel your flight because you're not going to any suicide mission. Not today. Not ever. Then we're gonna go somewhere to talk because I'm still not convinced about our break-up cock-up. And finally we'll investigate Mary because if your deduction turns out to be shit, I'll have to prepare an extra hard apology."

Sherlock blinked at him slowly and then blinked some more. His John. Finally!

Moments went by and His John huffed at last. Exasperated. "You can talk now!"

"Are you going to keep it?"

"W-what? Christ! That's all you could think of to say after that? You-urgh! You are incorrigible! And what's wrong with it anyway?"

"It ages you. It's bushy. And it will prickle."

"Prickle?"

"You know….when we..uh…if we…"

"Is that so? Wow, you _are_ optimistic, aren't you? Well, I don't shave for Sherlock Holmes. So, deal with it."

"You should have it printed on your coffee mug."

"You were never funny, don't start now."

"Or else?"

"Or else I'll marry _you_ this time."

Sherlock smiled that small only-for-John smile of his, "Mm, I can be persuaded."

[][][][][][][][]


End file.
